


Rubato

by kamextoise



Series: Music and Manuscripts [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Familiars, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-04-23 20:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14340096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamextoise/pseuds/kamextoise
Summary: He’d memorized the incantation, perfected the magic circle, read the basic information about what to expect with a summoning. He’d been expecting an animal of some sort, not a wiry man in a burgundy suit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pokerap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokerap/gifts).



Frank Archer is not a good mage. As humiliating as it is to admit, it’s not much of a secret. His parents were exemplary magicians—his entire family has been, really. At least up to him. The only thing he’s good at is potions; it’s enough to live comfortably off, especially in a mage’s city. But it’s mortifying, and he avoids the other mages with their familiars as much as he can. He remembers the one in the house when he was growing up, flitting around silently to help with tasks. It did whatever was asked of it, unquestioningly. 

He wants that, that power. That sort of control. He doesn’t have it in his own life, and with something else in the house, even a silent companion, it would make things go easier.

It only takes him a few days to find the correct spellbook to proceed. The design is complex, but not impossible to replicate. There’s even a few notes about including personal sigils to boost the chances of a compatible familiar. It’s easy enough to shove as much of his things in his study onto shelves, or temporary corners. The circle itself takes up most of the floor, with the exception of his desk.

Archer checks his book again, looking over each line of the incantation carefully. He knows it by rote, but it’s something to do to calm his nerves. There’s more to be done, some sort of offering—the book suggests something from nature. Curiously, it makes no reference to blood.

Strange, he could swear that was part of the ritual that summoned his mother’s familiar.

 _You’re thinking too hard,_ Archer tells himself, sighing. If the book suggests something from nature, that’s what he’ll do. He’s maintained the garden for years. It’s not difficult for him to find something he considers suitable: a white flower from the small pond in the center of the garden. He returns to his study, placing the flower in the center of the circle.

Well.

Here goes nothing.

He speaks each line of the incantation carefully, each time, noticing the changes in the air of the room. It feels a little like a breeze has somehow gotten into his house, even if the window to the study is shut. There’s the curious smell of damp earth, a chill as though it’s the dead of winter, and finally, a sudden mist envelops the room.

Archer curses, trying to wave the mist away, too impatient to let it clear on his own. It only takes a moment for him to confirm the spell certainly summoned _something_ , but his lip forms a thin line once he realizes what, exactly, is standing in the center of the magic circle. 

He’d memorized the incantation, perfected the magic circle, read the basic information about what to expect with a summoning. He’d been expecting an animal of some sort, not a wiry man in a burgundy suit.

“Nice to meet you,” the man says, sounding both amused and excited, almost buzzing where he stands. The suit doesn’t even fit him! It’s hard to believe there’s anything magic about him at all. He _did_ suddenly appear in Archer’s office, but maybe there was something about the magic circle off… was there a way he’s not aware of to summon random people into the middle of studies?

“Good day,” Archer says slowly, trying to hide his confusion. Is this some kind of joke? “Are you really a familiar?”

The man’s head tilts dramatically. “What else would I be?” 

He hasn’t stepped outside of the magic circle, Archer notes. And doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to do so either.

“Very well,” Archer says, feeling a slight tick forming in the left side of his face. “I have created you, spirit, to—”

“Hang on,” the man says, now looking offended. “You didn’t create me. Don’t act so haughty. You called me, that’s it.” But he doesn’t leave from the magic circle—he’s not trapped, is he? If he is this could become a bigger pain. After a moment the spirit seems to calm down, laughing slightly to himself. “Name’s Kimbley.”

 _Kimbley? What a strange name._ Archer straightens his back. “Frank Archer,” he says. “You may call me Archer.” It might sound formal, but he’s never gone by his given name.

The familiar tilts his head again before giving off another laugh. “You’re weird,” he says. “Why did you summon me, anyway? I doubt you’ve brought me here to chitchat.”

“I want power,” Archer says automatically, earning a snort from the other man.

“At least you’re honest.” He looks thoughtful, hands sliding into his pockets as he gazes to the floor, apparently examining the circle with interest. “But that’s not a problem for me. Sure, I’ll help you out.” His smile is easy, but Archer can’t help but wonder just sort of person would agree to something so easily. Maybe familiars are drawn to certain types of people? He looks up, noticing Archer’s stare, but doesn’t do more than give a pointed stare in return.

“How does this work, exactly?” It’s likely the question that’s the most pressing. He isn’t getting into this until he knows exactly what to expect.

Kimbley shrugs. “We form an agreement: stipulations, limitations. That sort of thing. I know it sounds like a contract, and that’s because it is.”

So he just states what he wants? Archer considers for a long moment. “Help me become stronger,” he says. “That is my only request.”

Kimbley breathes in, like he’s about to laugh. “Done,” he says. He’s quiet for a moment, obviously thinking about his own terms of the agreement. “Don’t keep me indoors. Every now and again, I want to see the stars.”

It seems a strange request, especially from a man in an unblemished suit. Even if it doesn’t fit him. But he must have his reasons, familiars must come from _somewhere_ ; why bother turn down such a simple request? “That’s acceptable,” he says. Kimbley raises a brow, but doesn’t have a remark in return.

“Do we have an agreement?” Kimbley asks, holding out his hand.

Archer stares at the hand. “What are you doing?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

“We need to formalize the contract,” Kimbley says simply. His words are even, but he looks jittery. Perhaps he’s never done this before.

“With a handshake?”

“Yeah,” the familiar nods, something glittering in his eyes. “I think there are other ways to do it, but I’m not all that creative.”

There’s a lot at stake. What if he’s done something wrong with the spell? There are demons out there, ready to trick mages foolish enough to summon them, to drag them to hell or to rip their souls out of their bodies. But the power a familiar would grant, even just by being in proximity outweighs the negatives. Besides, demons, from what he’s heard, tend to be smooth talkers, convincing people something is their own idea rather than the demon’s. This man is much too pushy to be a demon.

He extends his hand, grasping Kimbley’s firmly. Almost at once, he can feel a warm, almost soothing power emanate from their grip. It’s calming, not unlike a warm breeze. It’s as familiar as petrichor, and when they pull out of the handshake, Archer feels a little dazed. “Huh,” he says, swaying a little before Kimbley catches him by the shoulder. If he had any doubts about the connection these spirits have to nature, that’s extinguished now.

It’s only now that Kimbley steps outside of the magic circle, looking around the room curiously. “You should probably sit for a while. I don’t actually know how this is supposed to go,” he sounds sheepish, more inexperienced than Archer had first thought. He directs Archer to the nearest chair, before continuing to gaze around the room, and then to the deactivated magic circle. “I’ve heard the sudden increase in mana flow can make people sick,” he says with a shrug.

Archer sighs, trying to busy himself with the objects on his desk, but the vague dizziness hasn’t quelled. Kimbley moves to sit across from him, in the chair he doesn’t think anyone has ever used before, resting his head in his arms as he leans onto the desk. He looks like a student about to fall asleep rather than a nature spirit called to his side.

“I’ve never been inside a house before,” Kimbley says eventually. 

Archer doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead he asks the question that’s been on his mind. “Why didn’t you step outside the magic circle right away?” He supposes Kimbley looking around the room would make sense, if he’s never seen the inside of a house before. Though, he thinks, that answers the question that had been nagging him for a while: whether or not Kimbley had ever done this before.

“I needed to make a contract before I could. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s annoying.”

Hmm. That doesn’t exactly answer the question to his satisfaction, but he moves on. “You look human,” he says eventually. “Everything I’ve read has stated familiars take on animal forms.”

Kimbley doesn’t sit up, but he does grin. “We have both. I like this one better.”

“And what’s your other form?”

“A black tabby.” Before Archer can even visualize what that must look like, Kimbley sits up, smirking. Archer realizes he’s smiling himself. “Want to see?” Kimbley purrs. 

Archer has always loved cats; he remembers his childhood cat, Cosette, fondly. “Yes,” he says.

There’s a shift in the air, like a sudden drop of pressure before a storm, and in Kimbley’s place sits a black cat—a solid black cat— who promptly jumps onto the desk before sitting down. It’s fluffier than he would have thought, given Kimbley’s human appearance. Not perfectly groomed, but not matted either. Its tail swishes ever-so-slightly with interest.

“I thought you said you were a tabby.”

At that, the cat (Kimbley?) jumps off the desk to hop onto Archer’s windowsill. “Look,” Kimbley’s voice says, coming from the cat. The cat’s lips don’t move. Archer moves closer. In the sun, his black fur looks more like a deep umber, and Archer can just barely make out the familiar tabby patterns on his face.

“You’re beautiful,” Archer murmurs before he can stop himself, turning away as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“Thank you,” the tone is amused, and there’s another dip in pressure as Kimbley shifts back into his human form, immediately taking his seat once again, in the same exact pose as before. Archer takes a moment to compose himself before returning awkwardly to his chair. He doesn’t feel dizzy any longer, but he doesn’t want to move from this spot for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a few hours later when they’ve moved to the sitting room, Archer holding a cup of tea in his hands, but not drinking it. Kimbley has already downed half of his cup and is looking like he’s having trouble sitting still. Some sort of alien emotion, a buzzing excitement, is welling up inside of Archer. It’s troubling, and he nearly asks Kimbley about it.

He’s only noticing now, with Kimbley so close to him, that the man’s amber eyes are slit like a cat’s. It would be eerie, if he didn’t already know about his familiar’s other form. As it is, he watches for a long moment, trying to bite back the impulse to pull him closer. Even if they are connected now, it seems far too intimate considering they’ve barely known each other for three hours.

“Where were you before I called you?” Archer asks, curiously. He could have sworn familiars were conjured directly by the mage, “how did I call you?” It’s a more diplomatic way of asking the question. He doesn’t want to offend the familiar when they’ve only just bonded.

Kimbley, for his part, frowns thoughtfully, twisting the teacup in his hands. “The only way I know how to describe it, is that you put up the magic equivalent of a help wanted sign. It didn’t compel me, but it did catch my interest. I’ve never felt that before, and I guess I was curious.” He shrugs. “So now I’m here.”

It occurs to Archer that, had Kimbley not answered the summon, he likely wouldn’t have summoned anything— _anyone_ he corrects himself— at all. It’s hard to admit, even in his own head, how lousy he is with magic.

“It wasn’t a binding, you know. We’re connected, sure, but phrasing is tricky; it’s not like it’s an enslavement. I shook your hand, remember? Think of that as the signing of a contract. I provide you with a boost to magic, you give me an immunity to the magical ailments that are so common. I think spirits are able to draw upon mages’ own mana, but I don’t really know much about that.” An immunity to magical ailments, huh? That would be most useful, if it also applied to Archer.

There was a reason he’d decided to focus on potions; while poisons are his specialty, cures to magical diseases are difficult to come by. It hadn’t crossed his mind before that familiars could be affected by them as well.

“And where were you before?”

“In the forest,” Kimbley says, almost distant.

“The forest?”

“Yeah,” he begins. “I was pretending to be a stray cat. It gets me more food than if I looked like a man.” There’s something deeply tragic about that statement, but Kimbley shrugs it off so easily that Archer doesn’t want to question him further.

It’s the first time he’s gotten an indication that there’s more to him than being the self-assured, confident man Kimbley presents himself as. “Were you alone?”

“At the time I was, but not always. Sometimes I travel with my friend.”

“Your friend? A familiar as well?”

“Yeah. He’s a crow.” Kimbley grins. 

Another alien feeling, this time hard to describe. It’s not happiness, not the buzzing excitement, but Archer doesn’t want to dwell on whatever it could be that he’s feeling. He stands. “Would you like something to eat? I’m afraid I am not much of a cook, but I will do what I can.” Were he less paranoid, maybe he’d have a live-in cook; the house is certainly big enough to warrant one.

He busies himself without waiting for an answer, pulling food from the ice box at random. He doesn’t know what to cook, so he settles upon breakfast, even though it’s well past noon. Kimbley watches him curiously, and Archer wishes he would say something, to break the awkward silence. “What is your experience with mages?” Archer asks eventually, when it becomes clear Kimbley isn’t about to say anything. Maybe he’s simply comfortable with the silence; if he’s been alone long enough, it’s a possibility.

“I don’t have much. High level mages can sense my kind, and I don’t really like it. Too many questions.”

Archer makes a vague affirmative noise. Maybe he should have asked more questions. Kimbley doesn’t seem to be lumping him in with other mages. If it’s a compliment or an insult, it’s difficult to tell. Kimbley doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t rub in the fact that Archer is a terrible mage who can barely read potions recipes correctly. “Do you want anything in your omelette?” he asks, feeling foolish all of a sudden. What a stupid question to ask. Do familiars even need to eat? Kimbley had brought up food before, but…

“Omelette?” Kimbley echoes curiously.

“Yes. What do you want in it? I have a few peppers, tomatoes…”

“Oh, uh,” he’s never seen someone look so taken aback by a simple question before. “Whatever you have in yours, I guess.”

Archer quirks a brow. “You’ve never had an omelette before?” he asks.

“I was pretending to be a stray, remember.”

“But you’ve never… before, you must have had food at some point?”

Kimbley frowns. “Of course I’ve had food. I’m alive, aren’t I? I need to eat.”

“But you don’t know what an omelette is.”

“No.” Kimbley’s expression is easy. He doesn’t look threatened or insulted. But there’s probably something Archer is missing, something important. Is this a cultural thing? Do familiars have a culture? Kimbley’s head tilts at the silence, the same dramatic gesture as before. “What’s an omelette?” he asks after a long moment, looking slightly annoyed that Archer hasn’t explained it already.

Archer sighs. For a nature spirit who agreed to help make Archer stronger, he seems strangely naïve. “It’s a breakfast meal made with eggs. You can add any manner of ingredients into it—meats, cheeses, vegetables; it’s a versatile dish.”

“Oh,” Kimbley says brightly. “I’ll still have whatever you have.” Maybe it’s easier than deciding exactly what he wants, without looking through what Archer has. Archer nods, getting to work on cooking. It feels oddly intimate, and eventually Kimbley strolls into the kitchen, watching him cook more closely. Were it anyone else, he’d probably snap that Kimbley was bothering him, but despite the fact that he hardly knows the man, it feels more natural than anyone else he’s ever been around.

“Wow,” Kimbley says. His tone is enough for Archer to know he’s sincere even before saying anything else. “I’ve always just scrounged up whatever I can find. Usually it’s nothing this fancy.”

 _Fancy?_ Archer raises a brow at him, but Kimbley doesn’t elaborate. “I wouldn’t call this fancy,” he says. 

“Mm, I guess. When you’ve been foraging for food, a cooked meal smells so good.” Kimbley leans onto the counter, just watching Archer. He asks intelligent questions, and though Archer is far from a competent cook, it feels nice being able to answer questions without fear of judgement. They eat on the couch because Kimbley doesn’t understand the point of tables, and it manages to feel more intimate than anything else he’s ever done before.

It’s not until later, when Kimbley is practically resting his head on Archer’s shoulder, that it occurs to Archer that there are questions worth asking. He taps Kimbley’s shoulder to get his attention, large cat eyes opening to look at him curiously.

“What _is_ the bond?” he asks, curiously. He should have done more research, admittedly. 

“You don’t know?” Kimbley asks, looking like he’s about to rub it in. He sits up, just slightly. His grin is annoying enough, but then he leans back lazily, like the cat he apparently is. “It’s a real, almost physical, thing. If you concentrate long enough, you should be able to see it.”

“Like a leash? A chain?”

The familiar scowls. “No, nothing like that. It’s more like a string,” he mutters. “It attaches you,” he says, prodding at Archer’s chest over his heart, “to me,” he finishes, pointing to his own heart. Archer tries to concentrate, will the string into visibility, but he can’t see anything attaching them to each other. It occurs to him that Kimbley might be using a hyperbolic metaphor, though he doesn’t voice that opinion.

“Have you done this before?” Archer asks. It’s bewildering, intimate. And Kimbley’s so _calm_ about it.

“No,” the familiar says, stretching out.

“But this is so _intimate._ ” He knows it’s a foolish protest, especially now that they’ve sealed the contract. It’s likely there must be a way to sever it, but would he want to? An image borne of trepidation assaults his mind, the severing of a bond being as painful as non-anesthetized amputation. If Kimbley can feel his anxiety—and Archer is almost certain he can— he says absolutely nothing.

“Well, _yeah,_ ” is the only response he gets.

Archer sighs, feeling a headache forming in his temples. “This will take some getting used to, you realize,” he mutters.

Kimbley lets out a low hum, smirking. “’Course it will. It’d be weirder if everything was perfectly settled less than half a day later, don’t you think?”

“Why are you so calm about this?”

“Because it’s how things go,” Kimbley shrugs, like he’s discussing something that doesn’t involve binding two people together. “Power, protection, companionship… there’s a lot to get used to, but there’s nothing unnatural about the contract. You’re just being weird about it.” Archer opens his mouth to argue, but Kimbley continues. “You said you wanted power, and I’m here to give that to you. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

He’s not sure if he should be put off by the admission or not. Is this something all familiars would be willing to do? Is it a cat thing? Is it just a _Kimbley_ thing? Most people aren’t so quick to imply they’re willing to kill for a stranger. 

“Anyway,” Kimbley continues. “The bond being a physical thing means it can strain. It can fray, it can be painful… It’s, you know. Two people together. Like you said, it’s intimate.” 

And people just do this all the time? Maybe he is overthinking it. “And this is so common it was strange for me not to have a familiar,” Archer mutters to himself.

Kimbley’s head tips, grinning like he’s about to laugh, but choosing not to. “You really don’t know a lot, do you?” he says, his voice mercifully free of mockery. 

“And I suppose you do?”

The familiar hums. “A little bit. My friend knows a lot more about this sort of thing than me, though. He’s the one who’s told most of it to me.” Archer inclines his head, asking Kimbley, wordlessly, to elaborate. “Like the whole… bond… thing. The initial part of it. It’s not like that human word, what is it… honey… something to do with honey?”

“Honeymoon?” Archer ventures.

“Yeah, that. It’s not like that. There isn’t really a phase where everything feels great right away, that takes time. The bond needs to settle. It gets stronger over time, but at first, when it’s new, it’s sore and not very flexible.” That matches up with how he’s already feeling, the intense desire not to leave Kimbley’s side. It’s probably something built into the ritual, to keep one from accidentally harming the other, or both of them at once.

It all sounds terribly inconvenient, but Archer sighs all the same, not feeling bothered but wishing he does. “What else?”

The familiar’s head tips in a way Archer is beginning to realize is a sign he’s concentrating. “We need to be within a certain distance of the mage we’ve formed a contract with, or the shared mana won’t work. It would take too long to pass the mana along, or something like that. If you’re far enough away not to be able to see the person you’ve bonded to, it probably hurts like hell as it is.” Archer doesn’t respond for a while, and Kimbley takes the time to stretch out, looking languid and content. “Oh yeah,” he says, sitting up like he’s just thought of something. “And despite what my other form looks like, I’m not actually a cat.” And just like that, he returns to relaxing on the couch.

“I see,” Archer says, not seeing at all.

“When I pretend to be a stray,” Kimbley elaborates, “they can tell. They don’t mind because they like people, right? But if I went up to a cat in a colony, one that has never been around people before, I’d probably get attacked. Even if I look like a cat.”

“But how can they tell? You’d look like a cat.”

Kimbley taps at the tip of his nose. “The smell. That, and I can only act like a cat insofar as I’ve picked up body language from experience. And I can’t meow, either. I just do my best to mimic the sounds and hope I don’t sound too much like a man saying ‘meow’ to people.” 

He falls silent, and Archer finds himself wondering what to do. Kimbley is perfectly okay with the silence, with the situation. Archer can’t begin to understand why. He needs to do research, he needs to figure out what he’s missing. He grabs at his head, running his fingers in his hair. This is all too much right now.

“Hey…” Kimbley sounds worried. “You okay?”

“I need to go to the library,” Archer says, standing.


	3. Chapter 3

“The library?” Kimbley tilts his head, trying to get a read on what, exactly, Archer is trying to indicate. He’d rather stay here, in the manor. Even if he likes being outside, the bond has just formed. He doesn’t want to get further than an arm’s length away from Archer, if he can avoid it. He’s never been the sort of person to sit still, and never will be. But right now? There’s not much more he’d rather be doing than curling up close to the other man and taking a nap while he waits for the bond to settle completely.

“Yes,” Archer says stiffly. He’s talking through his teeth and trying to make it seem like this isn’t a thought that has just occurred to him. “I have an order I need to complete soon, and it’ll require looking through books I don’t have.” It’s such a poor excuse that Kimbley nearly calls him on it, but instead he shrugs, and Archer nods to himself. “It would be best if we leave as soon as possible. I have a lot to work on today, you understand.”

Right, the order that doesn’t exist.

“Regardless, I’m coming with you.” His tone is even, watching Archer carefully.

“As the cat. I don’t want any questions about being around a newcomer,” Archer says with a sigh. 

Kimbley opens his mouth to argue, to tell the other man that that was one of the stupidest things he’s ever heard, but he closes his mouth, nodding. It’s not worth the fight, especially when he wants to see more of this town. He doesn’t even wait for Archer to say that they’re leaving before shifting forms, leaping onto Archer’s back.

“The hell are you _doing?_ ” he hisses, clearly put off by the sudden weight of a large cat climbing onto him, until Kimbley lies down. The bond refocuses itself, balances out. The weight of Kimbley’s form is still present, but the contract ensures that this close together, they’re more like one entity than two. “…huh,” Archer says, his tone suddenly distant. “That’s convenient.”

Kimbley puffs out his chest from his perch on Archer’s shoulder. “See? I know what I’m doing.”

**

It’s not the most practical of disguises, with a black cat wrapped around Archer’s shoulders like a scarf. But Kimbley wasn’t staying behind, and the bond is too new, too raw, for either of them to want to be separated from one another.

It’s not until they’re right outside the library that they’re stopped by a man in a blue uniform, who looks them up and down before yawning. “You have a cat on your shoulder,” he observes.

“Mustang,” Archer says curtly. 

“Archer,” the man replies. “Doesn’t that hurt? Looks heavy.” He studies Kimbley carefully, yawning again and glancing at the cat in a way that makes Archer think he’s stupid, and Kimbley keenly aware this Mustang man knows precisely what he is.

“Not exactly,” Archer says, which isn’t a lie.

Kimbley gives off a yawn of his own, stretching out his forepaws, before his amber eyes gaze at Mustang for ever-so-slightly too long. It’s enough to make Archer think Kimbley’s playing along, and enough for him to send the clear signal to Mustang that he’s aware the man knows, and entirely unthreatened.

“You really should call me Roy,” the Mustang man says eventually. “’Mustang’ sounds so formal.” 

“I’d prefer to go with ‘Mustang’, if it’s all the same to you,” Archer replies coolly. 

“You used to call me Roy when we were kids,” the man says pointedly. “And I’ve called you Archer since we were eight.” Kimbley can’t help it, he snickers, trying to play it off as a sneeze as Mustang eyes him and Archer ignores him in favorite of the man in front of him.

“Is this a discussion we need to have now?” Archer says testily, folding his hands across his chest.

“No,” Mustang’s gaze lingers on Kimbley more than on Archer. Is Archer really this oblivious…? Kimbley’s head tips despite himself, though he keeps silent. This is a ridiculously stupid idea. “But we should discuss this later.”

“If you insist.”

There’s a mischievous glint in Mustang’s eyes. Something Kimbley likes. “I’ll hold you to it,” he says. “Give you a call this evening.”

Archer shoves him out of the way. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” he mutters.

“No, I’m not.”

“Fine. This evening.”

And just like that, Mustang walks away, even as Archer narrows his eyes, watching the man leave.

Archer strolls into the library, trying to act normal, but walking stiffly. He’s probably still mad about the Mustang man. The librarian doesn’t even look up from the book she’s reading, but then again, she wouldn’t. A cat would never curl around a man’s shoulders as he walked around busily. Kimbley is obviously a familiar; the only one who doesn’t realize it is Archer. And that’s fine, Kimbley isn’t offended. He’s confused by Archer’s need for secrecy, but it’s funny more than anything else. Archer spends some time walking up and down the rows, pulling out books on herbs, on familiars, and on obscure diseases. Likely, the other two are an attempt to obfuscate the fact that he’s trying to research Kimbley without telling him.

Really, all he has to do is _ask._

Eventually Archer moves to one of the private study rooms. Kimbley takes that as his cue to jump off Archer’s shoulders, and onto the table, where Archer sets the books down. He pulls out a journal from his pack, flipping through pages until he finds a blank one. He sits heavily in the chair, apparently not bothered by Kimbley’s hovering. He shouldn’t be, but the bond is still raw, and he’s so ridiculously secretive. 

The first book he opens, unsurprisingly, is one of the ones on familiars. The book is upside down from his perspective, so Kimbley moves position, nudging Archer’s hand out of the way.

“You’re rather pushy,” Archer notes, but he sounds amused. 

“I want to know what humans think,” Kimbley says honestly. “And what they’ve gotten wrong.” He’s careful to make sure he doesn’t block Archer’s view too badly. It would probably be easier if he shifted forms, but why would he do that? Archer flips through the pages slowly, Kimbley falling silent after a while.

Eventually, Archer speaks up, having flipped through the introduction. Kimbley had tuned out three paragraphs in, only perking up when the mage speaks. “This is written from a neutral point of view,” he says, even though there’s no reason to explain it to Kimbley—hopefully he’s figured out his familiar can read just fine. “It’s a little old, but the author didn’t have a familiar. It shouldn’t be biased.” Kimbley snorts a laugh, and Archer raises one brow delicately. “What?”

“Biased! It should be biased.”

“I don’t understand.”

Kimbley can’t point effectively in the smaller form, but he manages to nudge a paw at the section that opens with: _This document is the results of hundreds of hours of observation._ “This makes it sound like we’re some kind of herd of animals. He could have just asked, it would make him sound like less of a stuck-up prick.” 

Archer quietly sets the book aside. “…I’ll save that one for later,” he says stiffly. Unsurprisingly, the next book he also picks up is one about familiars. This one makes it clear that it was written by a bonded mage, and while Archer clearly wants to read something from a neutral point of view—whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean—he relaxes visibly when Kimbley doesn’t provide any negative commentary. He flips through the book fairly quickly, clearly looking for specific things, once in a while jotting down notes in a code that Kimbley could likely decipher easily if he cared to.

“This indicates he had an incredibly difficult time getting information from other mages’ familiars. His own answered every question she could honestly, but unless he asked his fellow mages to relay questions, the familiars refused to answer most of his questions. Are all of your kind this cagey?”

If Kimbley currently had eyebrows, they would have raised at the question. “Would you answer deeply personal questions if someone said they were writing a book?”

“But they did answer them, he makes it clear they were aware the questions were his.”

“Probably because it was important to their mages.” Kimbley doesn’t really get it, but it makes sense to him. It’s not like the questions were anything graphic—why did you respond to the call? Were you drawn to your mage? Describe the bond— but they’re certainly _weird._ Questions that don’t have easy answers, and that’s probably why someone spent an entire book just trying to understand the bond, the contract, from a familiar’s point of view.

Leave it to humans to make something so simple into something needlessly complex.

Maybe it would be easier to switch into his other form after all. He could snatch the books out of Archer’s hands and tell him to stop being weird about this and just ask him the damn questions. The worst that could happen is Archer asks him something he doesn’t know the answer to.

“I have a question for you,” Archer says so suddenly it takes a moment for Kimbley to realize he’s been addressed.

“Yeah?”

“When I was a child, my mother had a familiar. But it wasn’t like you. It didn’t speak, and it didn’t have a human form. My father used to tell me to—”

“Your father?” the statement immediately struck Kimbley as strange, turning his gaze to Archer now, tail swishing slightly behind him. It’s about the only movement he didn’t have to teach himself to do. He should ask more, but he doesn’t know where to start, especially not when Archer is asking a strange question.

“Yes. He told me not to bother it. I don’t remember much about it, but I know my mother summoned it using her own blood.”

 _That_ makes him start, alarmed so much he switches dramatically to his human form, suddenly practically sitting in Archer’s lap. Archer, for his part, doesn’t do more than set the book aside, raising his eyebrows at Kimbley. He can feel his own tension, his alarm, and Kimbley might not have done this before, but he knows Archer can feel his horror. “What’s wrong?” he asks, and Kimbley’s surprised at the genuine concern in his voice. It’s in his eyes, too. He leans further into Archer despite himself. His breathing has hitched, panic growing in his veins. What the fuck has he gotten himself into?

Kimbley has to look away, trying to calm himself. “She didn’t have a familiar, she created a construct,” he murmurs. He’s still sitting on the table, not moving. Constructs are terrifying, he doesn’t know too much about human culture, but to _spirits_ there’s nothing more unnatural. One of Archer’s hands slide up the side of Kimbley’s body, resting against the side of his face.

“A construct?” Archer taps Kimbley with his other hand to get his familiar to look at him.

“It’s a form of blood magic. A reanimated corpse bound to a mage using blood as a seal.” He can’t help but shudder, the idea makes his skin crawl. He has no problem killing for Archer; if that’s what it takes, he’s fine with it. There’s a reason he was thrown out of the small settlement when he was younger. He’s impulsive, and quick to solve his problems by cutting someone open. But violence is different from reanimating a dead body, and Kimbley is still a nature spirit.

There’s a long silence. “It did not stay around for more than a couple months,” Archer admits quietly.

“You won’t do anything like that,” Kimbley says. It’s not a request; it’s a command.

“No.”


	4. Chapter 4

The promise is enough for Kimbley. The bond is muted, nervous. Neither of them sure what to say, if there’s anything to say. He slides off the table before someone can walk in and yell at him, pulling up a chair so he can lean against Archer again. A part of him is waiting, daring Archer to tell him to take on his animal form so he has an excuse to get angry, but neither of them say a word.

“We’re not like constructs,” he says. His tone surprises even himself, how vulnerable he sounds, even to his own ears. “We’re people.”

Archer doesn’t look at him. “I know,” he says. It’s a new revelation for him, but that doesn’t matter to Kimbley. He’s said it, that’s good enough.

They’re both quiet for a long while. Archer doesn’t speak, and Kimbley is honestly content not to. Like this, it’s easier to watch Archer read, to read over his shoulder, too. He’s flipping through one of the books on diseases now, probably to give them both a chance to take in their conversation. It’s a lot, more than Kimbley wanted to consider. They’re silent for nearly half an hour. Archer once in a while jotting down more notes in that shorthand of his, and Kimbley seriously considering taking a nap. He’d still prefer to be in the house, in a place he can consider _his_ even if it has been less than a day.

“What are you going to discuss with that Mustang person?” Kimbley asks eventually. He hasn’t moved at all, and Archer only glances at him for a moment before he returns to his notes.

For nearly a minute, Kimbley doesn’t think Archer is going to respond. It’s clear he doesn’t like the man, though it doesn’t take a genius to realize the two have known each other since they were children. Mustang is a mage, that much is blatantly obvious, but that’s the only thing he knows for sure. Archer sighs eventually, though, setting his pen down. “I never know with him. Perhaps he’s decided he needs to gloat.”

“Gloat? About what?”

“Does it matter?” Archer frowns. “Some new spell, some formula. A breakthrough in his magic. It’s always something.”

“He didn’t strike me as the bragging type. What does he specialize in?”

“Oh, believe me. He enjoys talking at great length of his credentials. Damn flame mages.”  
Kimbley laughs before he can stop himself.

“What’s so funny?” Archer nearly jerks away from Kimbley in surprise, and the familiar is grateful that he doesn’t, because he’d probably have fallen over.

“I use fire elements.”

“Do you?” Suddenly blue eyes are on him, and Kimbley can’t help but feel incredibly important. It would probably make him look a little more serious if he sat up, but instead he just smirks broadly, even after Archer raises a brow at him. “Would you be able to teach me?”

“I don’t see why not,” Kimbley says, shifting so he’s leaning further against his mage. “You want to be stronger. We’re connected through the bond—you can draw upon my mana. It doesn’t hurt me any. You just need to learn how to direct it, move it where you want it to go. It’s fire; you can control it to an extent, but the bigger the flame, the harder it is. You’ll get the hang of it.” It’s not like Kimbley has ever taught anyone before; familiars only have control over the one element, unlike mages. But Archer is _his_ , and he isn’t the sort of person to change his mind easily.

Archer looks away. “With my abilities, I’d probably burn down the house,” he mutters. 

“We’ll start small. Just lighting the fire, that sort of thing.”

His pale face is tinged with red, and Archer looks like he wants to argue, but instead he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I suppose I should appreciate the vote of confidence.”

Kimbley curls further against Archer in response. “Wording it like that makes you sound like you think I’d be a lousy teacher,” he purrs. Archer flushes a deeper red, looking like he hadn’t been expecting Kimbley to say anything at all. “This isn’t something I’d offer to just anyone.” _Only you, the one I’ve chosen to bond with._ But he doesn’t voice that out loud; it should be obvious enough. At least in theory, but Archer has shown himself to be surprisingly ignorant of things Kimbley thought were obvious.

“Can I ask you something else?” Archer says, looking suddenly thoughtful.

“Of course.” Maybe without realizing it, Archer brings a hand to Kimbley’s hair, petting him vaguely. It’s comforting, and Kimbley leans into the touch. 

“Why did you answer my summon? You’ve made it perfectly clear it was your choice to do so.” He sighs, looking awkward. “You must have noticed that I am not a good mage. There are others far closer to you in skill, I imagine.”

Kimbley’s gaze locks with Archer’s. “Because I wanted to. Why else?” It’s not lost on him that Archer is asking a question that had been in one of the books.

“Now I know you’re making fun of me.”

“What? Why?” Kimbley frowns deeply, not pulling out of Archer’s touch.

“’Because I wanted to,’” Archer echoes. “I can’t believe something like that.”

It’s Kimbley’s turn to sigh. “Why are we talking about this?” he whines, not in the mood for arguing. “I’d never been called before, and I was curious. If you ended up being an asshole, I would have left.”

“You mean you weren’t stuck in the circle.”

“No,” Kimbley agrees. “I could have left at any time. But I didn’t.” He tugs at Archer’s sleeve. “So stop acting weird. We don’t know each other well enough to have these kinds of conversations.” It’s not like they need to talk about this sort of thing. But maybe Archer is more like Kimbley than he realized. Archer lived alone, Kimbley had been alone… Hell. He doesn’t want to think about this right now. He looks at Archer, frowning. “I’m not angry at you for the creepy thing your mom did to a dead bird or whatever,” he mutters.

Archer straightens his back, glancing at Kimbley for a long moment before he sighs, looking away. His hand combs through his hair. “I apologize. You had a very strong reaction.” 

“I can’t imagine why,” Kimbley mutters darkly. He watches Archer for a long moment before he closes his eyes. “Let’s not make a habit of this. It makes the bond feel gross.” It’s tense and awkward, and he really wants to be alone in his own head right now, instead of constantly aware of how the other man feels. He finally does sit up, picking up the book about the bond curiously. “You know,” he says. “I’d rather you just ask me. It’s cute watching you try and dance around it, but just ask. Especially when it comes to questions about me.”

It’s not a perfect solution, but nothing ever is. “C’mon,” he says, standing. “I want to teach you how to light a fire without a starter.” 

Archer opens his mouth as if to argue but closes it. He tries again, frowning. “Did you just call me cute?”

“Yeah,” Kimbley says, grinning. “You gonna do anything about it?”

The pale man doesn’t say anything, just frowns like he’s trying to figure out if Kimbley is being genuine or not. Even if the bond should make it easier to read. “I suppose I’ll have to think about that, won’t I?” Kimbley barks a laugh, and Archer smiles. “Come on,” he says. “I’ve done what I need to do here.” Archer makes a show of carefully putting all the books away. He doesn’t tell Kimbley to switch back into the form of a cat, and when they leave Kimbley has his hand on Archer’s back.


	5. Chapter 5

A few weeks later, Archer has begun to adjust to Kimbley’s constant presence. He’s noticed how Kimbley brushes up against him more often than not—a very catlike gesture, even if he does insist he’s not actually a cat. But then, Archer does similarly, bringing a hand to Kimbley’s shoulder whenever they speak to each other. Kimbley always leans into the touch, smirking. He always looks so pleased with himself. It’s hard to believe it’s been less than a month, because it’s starting to feel like Kimbley has always been here with him.

Kimbley had called himself a lousy teacher, but learning to light the fire was easy enough, much to Archer’s shock. He kneels in front of the hearth, starting the fire with just a flick of the wrist, smiling to himself when the fire comes alive. Kimbley shuffles behind him, and Archer looks up briefly before he returns to the fire. The morning is cold, and he doesn’t entirely know what to do with himself. It’s been close to a decade since he’s last shared a bed with anyone, and even if they’ve done nothing but curl up next to each other, it’s an intimacy he’s not used to. Maybe he’ll get used to how much he enjoys cuddling with the other man at some point. It’s only been a few weeks.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Kimbley says.

“What thing?”

“That thing where you think so hard I can feel it in the bond.”

“But you can’t hear my thoughts,” Archer says, even though he already knows the answer.

“No,” Kimbley agrees. “Not that I need to. You’re thinking about me.”

Archer spins around. “How the hell do you know that?”

Kimbley smiles. “Thanks for confirming it,” he says, before he walks into the kitchen, laughing.

Archer follows him, watching as Kimbley carries the entire bowl of strawberries back into the sitting room and starts to eat them. He should be more angry about Kimbley successfully managing to tease him, but right now he’s more frustrated at the idea of Kimbley eating all of his food. “Can’t you put those in a separate bowl?” he growls.

“Why?” Kimbley only looks up at him for a moment, before he pops an entire strawberry in his mouth. “Seems wasteful.”

“It’s not wasteful, it’s clean. And keeps you from eating all of my strawberries.”

“It is wasteful,” Kimbley says, looking at him seriously. “They’re already in a bowl. I wouldn’t eat all of your strawberries.” He’d argue, but a part of him can see Kimbley’s point, even if it’s an odd one. He’s a nature spirit; he has never had much, as far as Archer can tell. Kimbley doesn’t discuss his past, and Archer has never asked. He really should ask more about Kimbley’s culture, because as far as he can tell, no mage has ever written at length about familiar culture. He gets the feeling they must live solitary lives.

Then again, maybe that’s just Kimbley.

Kimbley eats another strawberry, chewing slowly. “You’re thinking again,” he says carefully.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Kimbley asks, looking patient.

“Act like you’re afraid to take things that aren’t offered to you, or already in use.”

Kimbley leans back, looking thoughtful, picking up another fruit, but not eating it immediately. “I’m not afraid. It’s not that I think I can’t, or I think I shouldn’t. It’s that I don’t.” He motions to the bowl of strawberries for emphasis. “They’re already in a container. Why put them in a new one? There’s no point; we can share them. All you have to do is take the bowl.” It’s not logic Archer understands. He doesn’t know what to say, so instead he stares blankly. “They’re just tools,” Kimbley continues. “If you had some other type of fruit, I would put them in a different bowl. But two containers for the same thing is ridiculous. I don’t understand why you have multiple knives, you only need one. It’s the same for cups, glasses, and… everything, I guess.”

“They’re sets. For if I have company over.”

Kimbley frowns. “Company? Why wouldn’t people bring their own tools?”

“Because that’s not how it’s done.” The question is shocking. Are familiars really that different from humans?

Kimbley motions to the painting above the mantel. “I don’t understand that, either.” He sounds puzzled more than anything else.

“It’s a painting,” Archer says evenly.

“What does it do?”

“It doesn’t do anything. It’s meant to be decorative.”

Kimbley’s expression is blank. “I don’t understand,” he says. “In the settlement, everything had a function. The tools were the community’s; if you needed it, you used it, and then put it back.”

It’s the first time Archer has heard any indication from Kimbley about where he came from, but he decides now isn’t the time to change the subject. His life sounds so completely different from anything Archer has ever heard of, he wants to know as much as he can. Maybe it’ll stop arguments from happening in the future, if he has some frame of reference. “You don’t have anything you would consider yours.” It doesn’t sound like it was a form of abuse. It sounds distinctly not human, though Archer supposes he can see the reasoning behind nature spirits not hoarding objects.

Culturally, familiars must simply be different. They’re closed off, reluctant to talk about themselves with someone who isn’t their bonded mage. But they’ll talk at great length about whatever it is their mage asks them, provided they know the answer. Even if it means other people will know about it as a result.

Nature spirits who barely have a concept of personal ownership, but are fiercely private. It’s a strange thing to think about.

“No,” Kimbley says quickly, and then glances at himself. “…My clothes, I guess.”

“That isn’t exactly what I meant,” Archer says, which only nets a confused look from the other man. “Were you ever given anything in the settlement, that was just for you?”

“Oh,” Kimbley’s eyes light up, like he’s about to say something, before he frowns and then eats another strawberry, apparently to have something to do. “No. We don’t do that. That’s a human thing, gifts. A spirit presenting another with a gift would be…” He trails off. “I don’t know the word. It’s like when two humans decide to become one, to create a new life with each other.” He laughs awkwardly.

“A marriage,” Archer supplies.

Kimbley nods. “Yes,” he says. “It’s not something done lightly. Nobody would have done something like that, in the settlement.” There’s an unstated part to that not lost on Archer: nobody would have done something like that with _Kimbley._ It’s upsetting in a way Archer isn’t sure he’d be able to put to words even if he wanted to, but it makes him angry. Angry on Kimbley’s behalf, at the idea that Kimbley was likely an outcast to his own kind.

He knows Kimbley can feel it in the bond, but he doesn’t say anything, instead offering the bowl of strawberries to Archer. “Here,” he says. “They’re yours too.” There’s a quiet sort of domesticity to it, this relationship. There’s a reason for that, something he doesn’t want to dwell on because it makes his chest tighten in the most uncomfortable way whenever he tries. Archer takes the bowl, suddenly not sure what to say.

“Mustang has a familiar,” Archer says eventually. He hasn’t touched the strawberries, but Kimbley has curled up against him, so it doesn’t matter. Kimbley doesn’t react right away, doesn’t brighten up. He makes a soft _hmm?_ noise, but looks more relaxed than Archer would expect given their conversation. “I… don’t particularly know her well, but I have met her before, on occasion.” He supposes it should be obvious, in hindsight, why he hasn’t ever spoken to the woman without Mustang there. She wouldn’t like it, Mustang wouldn’t like it… much the same way, he supposes, how he would rather a mage that isn’t him be not around Kimbley without being present for it.

“How long has she been around?” Kimbley asks, which Archer thinks is an odd question to start with. 

“I’m not certain. It’s been at least a decade.” Kimbley’s expression lights up at the answer, and Archer can’t help raising a brow at the reaction. 

“What?” Archer asks.

Kimbley’s expression shifts, becoming more muted. “Oh. Nothing, really. I’m just impressed she’s stuck around for so long.” He’s hiding something, that much is abundantly clear, but why he’s hiding it and what it could mean is lost on Archer. But if their argument today is anything to go on, needling Kimbley into telling him isn’t going to work at all. Familiars are far too guarded, and if Kimbley doesn’t want to tell Archer something, he isn’t going to.

He just hopes Kimbley will change his mind.


	6. Chapter 6

Meeting with Mustang, especially with Kimbley tagging along with him so closely makes Archer feel awkward. Kimbley is walking so closely to him, smirking like he’s so confident about the situation. Kimbley always acts confident, sometimes it’s difficult for Archer to remind himself that Kimbley is such a guarded man, that there are so many things he doesn’t know about his familiar.

They stop just outside the coffee shop. Mustang is already there, a large dog black and white dog with light brown eyes that comes up to his waist sitting on the grass next to him. Kimbley ignores Mustang entirely in favor of offering a lazy wave to the dog, who shifts just like Kimbley had into a blonde woman with the same brown eyes. She’s in the same immaculate blue uniform as Mustang, and she straightens up a little, looking serious in contrast to Mustang’s leisure posture. She ignores Archer entirely in favor of locking her gaze with Kimbley. “Hello,” she says evenly. “It’s good to finally meet you.” Kimbley even walks up to her without a care, and Archer can’t help feeling a little jealous.

His familiar turns to him, smirking. “You wanted to do this too, right?”

He pauses, because it’s true enough. Even if he’s not certain he wants to know what, exactly, it is that Mustang wanted to talk to him. “Of course.” Archer sighs because Kimbley has a point. Kimbley brings a hand up to Archer’s shoulder, rubbing it gently. Archer still isn’t sure what to make of those golden cat eyes, of the reactions Kimbley can pull out of him with just a glance.

“I’m just gonna chat with her out here. It’s fine; we’re close enough together it’s not going to be uncomfortable for either of us.”

Archer glances at the blonde woman, who merely nods at him.

Mustang is all smiles and cheer, even if Archer knows him well enough to know it’s a front to cover up how suddenly uncomfortable he is. “C’mon Archer, let’s go grab a drink. You want anything, Riza?”

His familiar merely smiles, “No, thank you. It’s a little late in the day for me.”

“All right then,” Mustang says, still cheerful, dragging Archer into the building with him.

**

Archer sits stiffly at the small booth, still wondering why Mustang wanted to meet with him. And why he agreed. “The spirit you summoned, he’s adjusting pretty well.” He sips at his coffee. “He seems like he’s nearly the polar opposite of you.” There’s a wild smile on his face, like he’s pleased Archer has ended up with such an unpredictable man. “The last time we’d really spoken about familiars, you were adamant you didn’t need one. Something about it being pointless.”

He flushes red. “Aren’t I allowed to change my mind?”

“Of course you are,” Mustang says, nodding. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” He leans forward, folding his hands on the table. “But I know you. You don’t always think things through.”

“The hell I don’t,” Archer hisses, tempted to leave already.

“No, you don’t,” Mustang says again, rolling his eyes. “When you get an idea in your head, and you want to do it, you’re going to do it. Consequences be damned. You’ve always been like this; it’s nothing new.” He doesn’t sound angry, doesn’t look angry. Just exasperated. 

“I knew familiars could be a boost to magical power, and I wanted to become a better mage. Kimbley has helped me with that. He’s taught me magic; I didn’t think I could possibly learn anything.” He’d tried for years. 

Mustang nodded in sympathy, smiling just slightly. “I figured as much. But you did your homework, right? This is a pretty major change.”

“It’s not _that_ big of a deal. It is strange suddenly having someone else living in my home, but it’s not like Kimbley has been any trouble.”

Mustang blinks in surprise, his mouth falling open. Stunned silence wasn’t exactly what Archer had figured would be the reaction.

“What? I followed the instructions in the damn book. I just wasn’t expecting anything like Kimbley.” 

“Archer,” Mustang says, his tone surprisingly gentle. “How much of the book did you actually read?” It’s irritating to hear the concern laced in his voice, and to see his brows furrowed like he thinks Archer has done something without thinking it through entirely.

“I read enough,” he replies. He doesn’t understand what Mustang is getting at, or why he suddenly looks antsy.

“You didn’t read all of it,” Mustang says. His dark eyes are wide, and he looks like he’s about to laugh. “Archer, you…” He brushes a hand through his hair, finally laughing. He shakes his head, and Archer nearly gets to his feet, but Mustang calms himself, straightening up. “You have an incredibly patient familiar,” he says carefully. It’s not what Archer would have guessed Mustang would say.

“He doesn’t strike me as the patient sort,” Archer says grumpily. “He’s impulsive and easily distracted.”

Mustang shakes his head, smiling in an earnest way that would be irritating if it wasn’t so sincere. “He’s patient with _you._ ” Archer opens his mouth to argue, but Mustang continues before he can get a word in edgewise. “You know very little about his culture, don’t you? The two of you mesh too well for it to have started many bad arguments because of it.” 

He opens his mouth to argue again before quickly shutting it. They’d had a handful of arguments, but none of them had ended poorly as far as Archer could tell. Kimbley rarely left his side—never, in most cases. Right now, certainly, but Archer can feel Kimbley just outside the coffee shop. Kimbley’s emotions thrum through the bond, a little tense, a little overwhelmed. Archer wishes he could hear what Kimbley’s discussing with the other familiar, to make him act in such a way.

“He’s told me some things,” Archer admits reluctantly.

“Such as?”

“That he doesn’t understand the point of possessions.” It’s still an alien thing to admit; just what kind of life did Kimbley lead before meeting Archer? He doesn’t look in ill health in either of his forms, and despite making it clear he had lived alone, he doesn’t seem too strange to Archer.

Mustang winces sympathetically. “That took getting used to,” he admits. 

“You knew about it beforehand?”

“Of course,” the man nods. “I think the only reason Riza is comfortable with it is that she’s come to view everything we own as being shared between us. It still fits in with the notion of communal objects, even if it’s just the two of us.” He motions to his drink. “It’s much easier, if I’m the one giving things to her, but she’s gotten used to the idea of silverware, when we eat out. I think I told her to think of them as objects owned by the restaurant, that they are lending them to her. She was extremely reluctant to use them at first.”

Archer doesn’t understand, and it must show on his face, because Mustang continues. “It can be incredibly awkward, if something is thought to be a gift. You or I wouldn’t make that mistake, but spirits don’t often offer each other items unless they’re explicitly asked for.”

“Because the implication is that it’s a request for marriage otherwise?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause between them. Mustang’s brows knit together. “Archer,” he says, his tone equal parts cautious and gentle. “How much did you read about this, exactly?” It’s the second time he’s asked the question in only a few minutes. He brings the coffee to his lips, watching the other man carefully. 

“Enough.”

“Meaning?”

Archer sighs. “How to create a functioning magic circle, the incantation involved, the materials needed for the spell… a lot of the book seemed rather pointless to me.”

Mustang’s head tilts. “Archer…”

He rubs his face, combing his hands through his hair. “What am I missing, exactly?”

“How do you think Riza and I met?”

Archer sits up, frowning in thought. “Through the ritual, correct?”

Mustang’s head shakes. “No, I’d met her years earlier. She lived in the fields a way’s outside of town. I’m surprised you don’t remember her, I introduced her to you several times before.” He sighs. “Never mind. I’m getting side tracked. You’re right, the night I called her, it was through the ritual. But I’d known her for a long time before.”

“And this means what, exactly?”

“After meeting Riza, after getting to know her, when I decided to perform the ritual I knew when I called out to whoever was listening, that the only spirit who would answer would be Riza. Does that make sense?”

Archer stares blankly. “I,” he begins. He feels like a fool. “It wasn’t like that with Kimbley. The ritual was the first time I’d ever met him.” Kimbley certainly means something to him; he’s a companion when Archer had been thinking the ritual would give him a tool. Someone to talk to, someone who happily decided to teach him _magic_ even though one of the first things out of Archer’s mouth had been an insult to the familiar. Someone who shares a bed with him.

Kimbley is remarkably easy-going considering Archer’s sheer amount of hang-ups and his general awkwardness.

Mustang makes a _hm_ noise, leaning back in the chair. “That’s not uncommon. I don’t know how it works, exactly; I’m not so good with the legend and theoretics, but I know that just like with humans, mages and spirits who compliment each other can be drawn to each other.” He laughs, but it’s not an uncomfortable bark, it’s warm, like it doesn’t bother him at all. Like he’s talking about something he feels fondly about from long ago. “It was the same with Riza and I. Even if I had never met her before, I know if I’d done the ritual, she would have been the one to answer the call.” His smile is wistful and gentle.

Archer’s face is hot. He may be a little slow to pick up on things at times, but he knows what Mustang is getting at. He’s not sure if he’s feeling his own embarrassment, or if Kimbley is having an awkward discussion of his own. Maybe it’s both of them. “Kimbley didn’t explain it anything like that,” he mutters. “He made it sound more like some sort of business transaction.”

Dismissal isn’t the reaction he’d predicted from Mustang. “Like I said,” the dark-eyed man responds. “You compliment each other. I’m not going to pretend I understand why Kimbley did the things he did, that’s a conversation you’ll need to have with each other.” He shrugs, and Archer sighs.

“You make it sound like this is a romantic relationship,” he mutters sarcastically. He just hopes Mustang will leave the comment alone.

Instead, he gestures with one hand. “Isn’t it? You’ll roll your eyes, but there’s no one else I’d rather be with than Riza.”

“I suppose,” Archer murmurs. Right now, it’s too much to focus on.


	7. Chapter 7

It’s been a long time since Kimbley’s spoken with another spirit. Years, probably. He’s not sure. Archer helps him, a little, be able to keep track of the days. The man has a schedule, all regimented and careful. But Riza is likely to help him out in ways a mage cannot. She’s older than he is, she can tell him things he doesn’t know. That his friend doesn’t know.

“You’ve been alone for too long,” Riza comments mildly. She’s watching him intently but doesn’t seem to regard him as a threat.

“Yeah, maybe,” Kimbley agrees.

“There’s no ‘maybe’ to it,” Riza says, watching him. “How long has it been?”

Kimbley frowns, trying to think back. “Years, I think. I don’t know how many. It’s a little hard to keep track of the days when you live in the forest. My friend, he left, and that sucked. After that I was by myself.”

“What about your settlement?”

Ah. The one thing he really doesn’t like talking about. He shifts uncomfortably, tensing a little, before he grounds himself, leaning against the wall for support. “I was thrown out,” he admits, tensing, ready to fight. “Someone who thought he was better than me picked a fight. I killed him.” There’s no glee, no shame, just the anxious fact that he was shunned for being violent.

It doesn’t matter. He’ll kill again if it makes Archer happy.

Riza frowns, clearly not pleased, but she doesn’t say anything for a long moment. So obviously she’s not about to reprimand him, tell him he deserved the exile he got. “So I see,” she says finally. “You were travelling with another exile, I take it?”

“Yeah, I guess. The past was off-limits, we agreed on that pretty early on. So I don’t know much about his past, just that he probably came from a situation that was similar to my own.” He shrugs, not wanting to talk about this. “Can we talk about something else?”

The older spirit looks thoughtful for a moment, but she nods, apparently just as content as he is to leave it alone. “What do you think about the relationship between Roy and Archer?” she asks.

“Archer acts like he can’t stand the guy, even though they’ve clearly known each other since they were kids. It’s kind of ridiculous.” Kimbley doesn’t know too much about humans, but he does know that, despite acting like he despises Mustang, Archer does still make an effort to speak with him. Even if it is a little awkward being around the two of them when they talk.

“Sometimes I think maybe Archer thinks Roy is making fun of him, somehow.”

Kimbley laughs. “Yeah. That sounds right. Guy can’t take a compliment to save his life.”

“Roy considers him a friend,” Riza says, looking at Kimbley expectantly. He can’t help it, he snorts at the statement.

“Do you think Archer realizes that? He’s the sort of man you have to be blunt with.” Riza’s lips turn up into the slightest of smiles, like Kimbley has passed some sort of test. She relaxes visibly, her shoulders drooping by several inches.

“I’ll have to tell Roy that. Sometimes I think he’s under the impression that Archer has a much easier time picking up on things than he actually does.”

“Yeah,” Kimbley agrees fondly. “He’s kinda thick.”

Riza smiles. “What drew you to him?” she asks. It’s a much better question than she’d been asking earlier, so Kimbley relaxes, letting some of the remaining tension in his body fade.

“I don’t know. I just… thought we clicked? It’s not like I’d met him before, but I heard the summon; I’d wondered what it was like, never heard it before. It was nice. It made me feel kinda fuzzy inside, and I knew that was important because I don’t normally feel anything like that.” He’s never liked people very much; his friend is the only person he’s really ever gotten along with, and even then, the damn bird had annoyed the hell out of him most of the time.

“Interesting,” the blonde woman says. She’s smiling a little, like she finds the whole situation charming.

“What?”

Riza’s head tips, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know how true it is, but so the belief goes, we are drawn to a mage who is our equal and opposite; the one who balances us.”

“That sounds like a lot of romantic nonsense to me,” Kimbley mutters.

Riza smiles again, but this time it meets her eyes fully. “Maybe,” she says. She’s quiet for a moment, and then, “What did he give to you, in the ritual?”

Kimbley shifts on his feet, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “A lotus.”

“Roy gave me lilies.” 

He laughs uncomfortably, not sure why he’s suddenly feeling awkward. He never gets embarrassed, wasn’t aware it was an emotion he could feel. “I don’t think he knows I’m aware,” Kimbley says once he’s found the proper words to say. “I don’t know why this is flustering me,” he admits after a moment. 

“It is a pretty personal question,” Riza agrees. “Roy didn’t know, for the record,” she adds. “Not until I told him.”

“That sounds like an awkward conversation to have,” Kimbley says, a little too quickly. “’Hey, remember that time you gave me a gift before we knew each other at all?’” It’s embarrassing and weird, and god he wishes he hadn’t blurted out that Archer had called to him with a flower. “You think anyone has ever been called with a bundle of sticks?”

Riza makes a sound like a laugh. “I doubt it.” She seems to be mulling over something in her head, silent for a long moment, before she conjures the lilies to her. A small bouquet of them, like a man might offer on a first date. Kimbley knows, vaguely, why she’s doing this: he’s young, inexperienced. Disliked and avoided by most spirits; it’s not something anyone in his settlement wanted him to know of, in case he went ahead and did it to spite them. Just as soon as the lilies appear, she folds her hand and they vanish. She’s so completely in control, yet she’s allowed him to see something incredibly vulnerable. 

He pauses for a long moment before conjuring the lotus. It’s just the one flower, and he steels himself in case Riza says anything, but she doesn’t, just gazes at the flower curiously. He closes his hand, letting the flower fade away. It’ll be there if he needs it to be; hell, Archer could conjure it too, if he wanted. If he was aware it was a possibility.

“How did you formalize the pact?” Riza asks, watching him curiously.

“Pact? I’ve been calling it a contract.”

“’Contract’ implies it has an ending. You’re aware that this is something that isn’t supposed to end, aren’t you?” Her tone is vaguely concerned. He wishes she’d just get angry at him, because at least then he’d know how to deal with that. He doesn’t like people acting like they’re worried about him. It’s a ridiculous situation. He doesn’t even know her.

“I know,” he sighs. “You don’t have to tell me that.” 

“How did you seal the pact?” she prompts again. Her tone is curious. Kimbley can feel the flush on his face. He’s aware that there’s no reason to answer her—it’s incredibly personal. More personal than the gift. More personal than the fact that the fucking flower is the most important thing he’s ever held in his hands. 

“Nothing too fancy. Just a handshake.” 

He doesn’t know what to expect, but what he isn’t expecting is her to start laughing uncontrollably. “A handshake!” she wheezes, her shoulders shaking, her tone filled with mirth like he didn’t think she was capable of. She’s laughing so hard she’s crying, leaning up against the wall like she’s worried she might collapse otherwise. “You— you sealed it with—” she gasps. “ _Handshake!_ ”

Kimbley bristles. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

It takes Riza a long while to recover, and when she does, she’s still giggling, wiping the tears from her face. “You two are perfect for each other.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She looks at him seriously. “You’re both awkward.”

He can feel his face flush. “I’m not that creative! I didn’t know what to say, what do you even say to that?” He grumbles, scratching at the back of his head. “It’s not like I had much to ask. I just told him I wanted to see the stars. I’ve spent most of my life outdoors, I’m not going to be changing that anytime soon. He said something ridiculous, about wanting power. I thought it was one of the strangest things to say, given the circumstances. So I agreed because, I don’t know… it was cute?” In hindsight, maybe he should have been a little more clear about his own request.

“Is he aware of what the pact is? Are _you?_ ” Riza looks like she’s about to start laughing again.

“I know what the contract is!” Kimbley mutters, rubbing at the side of his head. “He thought he created me for some reason? Even though he had the gift in the center of the circle.” Archer’s kind of weird, but he’d dropped that thread as soon as Kimbley had corrected him. “He had some pretty strange misconceptions, I think. But he’s over those now, I’m pretty sure. Hell if I know how he ended up with them in the first place.”

“Like I said,” Riza says, smirking. “You’re both awkward.”

“Well, what did he ask _you_ , then, if Archer and I are so weird.”

“I didn’t say you’re weird,” Riza laughs. “He told me ‘I want you to be by my side, every step of the way.’” 

“…and you?”

“I told him I would stop him from doing anything stupid.” It doesn’t sound like it had been a request.

Kimbley can feel his heart hammering in his chest. It didn’t sound anything like the words he’d exchanged with Archer, though Archer’s words were close enough to Mustang’s that he doesn’t want to dwell on it too much. So what if he didn’t do things the right way? What the hell is even the right way, when it comes to something like this! Even if Riza isn’t being judgmental, it doesn’t help. He’s used to people judging him; it’s why he was kicked out of the settlement, it’s why he’s spent so much time by himself, only travelling with his friend.

“What the hell is going on out here?” It’s Archer’s voice, and Kimbley immediately perks up, his anger vanishing in a flash. He’s looking at Kimbley, not Riza, when he speaks. “Every three minutes, it’s something different from you.” How he’d walked outside without Kimbley noticing, he’s not sure. But the distraction is welcome. His expression is severe, but his tone is even. He doesn’t reach out to touch Kimbley, so Kimbley lays a hand on Archer’s shoulder for him.

“I’m touched that you care,” Kimbley says, grinning. Just like that, and he feels better.

“I could do without the sudden spikes from you,” Archer mutters.

Mustang appears at the door a moment later, not even looking at Archer and Kimbley before he moves to greet Riza. Good, Kimbley thinks, glancing at the two of them before his attention returns to the mage in front of him. He’s not particularly interested in knowing the man, but his priorities are in the right place.

“What were you talking about?” Archer adds, after realizing Kimbley isn’t about to offer any more commentary.

“You,” Kimbley says seriously, but which Archer seems to dismiss as a joke, because he rolls his eyes. He probably should discuss everything with Archer, tell the man his conversation with Riza, because it’s important. Because Archer probably doesn’t understand the importance of the flower, if he remembers using it at all.

Idiot, he _had_ told him giving a gift to a spirit was a union.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s a while before either of them really discuss what had happened. Kimbley is content not to talk about it, and Archer seems to be avoiding it entirely. One night, in the evening, Kimbley finds him pouring through his notes, a book open and a crease knit between his brows. “You ever think about anything besides research?” Kimbley quips, draping himself over the armchair so he can see what Archer is working on. It’s not even anything interesting! It seems to be a historical list of powerful mages in the area and their lineages. Kimbley could understand a lot of things, when it comes to research Archer would be interested in, but he didn’t think the mage would give a shit about a bunch of dead people. “Why are you looking through something so boring?” Kimbley whines, even as Archer flips a page.

“I’m trying to understand something,” he says, but doesn’t say more than that.

“And that is…?”

“Why so many mages listed in the records are unmarried.” 

Even a scan without looking too carefully makes it clear there’s a long list of heirs. Kimbley raises a brow. “Lemme see that,” he says without waiting for permission, yanking the book out of Archer’s hands. “Most of these guys were bonded,” he says with a shrug. “This looks pretty normal to me.” He passes the book back, ignoring Archer’s confused stare.

“It’d be really weird if a bonded mage got married,” Kimbley adds after a pause. “Taboo? Is that the word?” Archer’s blank stare is no help at all. “Anyway, what I mean is that it’s not done.”

Archer’s brows raise, his face turning slightly red. He twists away from Kimbley. “I hope I didn’t offend you,” he mutters.

“Not really.”

Archer’s still pink in the face when he asks, “Kimbley, are we married?” He’s looking at the book when he speaks.

It’s only the seriousness of his tone that makes Kimbley not laugh like an asshole. “That’s the human word for it, isn’t it?” He doesn’t know much about human traditions; there’s so much give and take involved with spirits that it’s hard to know what’s appropriate. “Not all humans know each other well before they marry, right? I remember hearing something about that in the settlement.”

“But we didn’t know each other at all,” Archer protests. “I thought… I thought we were making an _agreement_ , you made it sound like…” 

“I thought you knew,” Kimbley says, shrugging. “And we were making an agreement; it’s part of the ritual. Riza made it perfectly clear it wasn’t the most traditional thing, but I don’t give a damn. We’re us.” He hesitates before conjuring the lotus. “You asked me why I couldn’t leave the magic circle. It’s because, before completing the ritual, I would have had to return the gift.”

 _”Oh.”_ Archer manages to become even redder, picking up the lotus from Kimbley’s hand. “I thought it was an ingredient in the spell.”

“You gave it to me,” Kimbley says happily, and Archer smiles warmly.

“What an odd thing to be sentimental about,” Archer muses. He doesn’t look so embarrassed now, and Kimbley takes that as his cue to maneuver so he can slide up against the other man on the armchair. “Familiars certainly are a strange lot.” 

Kimbley closes his palm, letting the flower fade. Archer blinks in surprise, but doesn’t say anything. “I told you, gifts are important,” he sighs. “We don’t give each other any. And I liked you, anyway. It seemed like a good deal to me.”

“You liked me?” Archer frowns, but he wraps an arm around Kimbley’s shoulder just the same. 

“Mhm.”

“How? We hadn’t met.”

He closes his eyes, thoughtful. “How do I explain this,” he murmurs. “I could sense you, the sort of person you are. Couldn’t read your thoughts, still can’t, but there was just a… feeling, I guess. ‘This person would be great, I will like them if I go to meet them.’” His eyes open, and he sees Archer staring at him curiously. He rests his head on Archer’s shoulder, falling silent.

If Archer could get any redder, he’d probably faint from poor circulation. “Thank you,” he says, his tone barely above a whisper. “For choosing me.” 

Kimbley smiles into Archer’s shoulder. “You’re welcome.”


	9. Chapter 9

Kimbley doesn’t move from the spot he’s in, resting against Archer like some sort of living blanket. He points out the indications in the book of which mages were bonded to a familiar, the differentiation between that and human partners. What isn’t clear is the gender of the familiar partner half the time, even with a large percentage of the mages listed have clear lineages. They’re like this for a while, for long enough that Archer calms, Kimbley happily curling up against him.

“Can familiars and humans have children?”

Kimbley’s head tips. “What, you want to have a kid?”

Archer can feel his face growing hot, “That’s not what I meant, what I was asking was—”

But he’s cut off by a smirk. Kimbley doesn’t even sit up, looking far too amused. It’s too much, and he nearly moves to unseat the man leaning against him before the familiar speaks. “When two spirits decide to create life,” he begins, holding out both his hands in front of him. “They need to sacrifice a portion of their power. It’s not something they can recover, but they might eventually gain mana to replenish what was lost.” He mimes something that looks like mashing two balls of dough together. “I’d guess it’s similar for a spirit and a human.”

“There’s no sexual reproduction?”

“What, are you asking if I have a dick?” Kimbley counters. 

The deep heat wrapping itself around his face means Archer must look ridiculous. He feels ridiculous. This all must come across as incredibly naïve, there’s so little he actually knows about Kimbley’s kind. But Kimbley shrugs, not looking bothered in the slightest by Archer’s humiliation. He squeezes at one of Archer’s hands, even if his expression makes it clear he finds the whole situation incredibly funny.

“Sex feels fantastic, but it’s not needed to make a kid,” he says, clearly studying Archer for any reaction.

“You realize how convenient that sounds, don’t you?”

Kimbley shrugs. “I guess,” he says. “It’s not like they’re fully grown or anything. It’s still a baby.” He’s staring at Archer dubiously, like he doesn’t understand the line of questioning.

“I don’t understand—” Archer begins, but he’s cut off. 

“Spirits, we don’t really have a concept of sexuality. Not like humans. But it’s not like guys can become pregnant, that’d be fucking weird.” He only pauses for a fraction of a section before continuing. “I’ve always thought the idea of giving up such a big part of yourself for someone you can’t even meet until after it’s said and done was… I don’t know. I’d never do it myself, but I guess I can understand the appeal.” He looks at Archer expectantly, looking for Archer to say… what, he doesn’t know.

The culture of familiars is far too alien for Archer to understand, and the idea of using magic alone to create a child just fills him with more questions. And Kimbley’s comment about… _that_ only makes him less inclined to ask anything else, lest Kimbley say something else crude. Fortunately, the teasing seems to end at that. 

He remembers what Mustang had told him, about how spirits and mages allegedly compliment each other; two sides of the same coin. Kimbley has gotten angry with Archer before, but he’s never reacted with malice, or said anything that could actually hurt Archer. It’s strange to think about, and it makes the bond pulse with something Archer is certain is contentment.

He has an inkling that Kimbley wouldn’t bother to make the effort to explain things to anyone else.


	10. Chapter 10

It’s a few days later when Archer wakes in the morning, Kimbley wrapped around him in a manner distinctly reminiscent of an oversized housecat. The man may claim to just play the part of a cat, but he’s incredibly convincing at times. His skin is hot against Archer’s, and he has to pull away carefully to make sure he doesn’t wake his familiar. Kimbley groans in his sleep, but doesn’t wake. Archer may have stumbled into this relationship unknowingly, but the bond is something he’s grown used to. It feels like Kimbley has always been there for him, his energy buzzing into the bond between the two of them. Even now, with the familiar asleep, he can feel the bond thrum with something that can only be called _Kimbley._

If only the man wouldn’t insist on spending the entire morning asleep. Archer brushes a hand through Kimbley’s hair, not enough to wake him, and leaves the bed. His familiar will wake at the smell of breakfast cooking, so Archer doesn’t bother to do anything to disturb the man as he prepares for his morning.

Breakfast, as predicted, does wake Kimbley, who doesn’t even bother to dress when he walks into the house’s living space, dressed in a pair of sleep shorts and nothing else. “You’re making omelette again,” he says happily, his expression incredibly cheerful. His golden eyes seem somehow warmer, and when he strides to lean up against the counter to watch Archer as he cooks, Archer can feel the gentle hum of the bond between them. 

“I was thinking perhaps we could go for a walk today,” Archer says.

“I still haven’t seen much of the city,” Kimbley agrees with a hum. Right now, he seems content just watching. A part of Archer is worried Kimbley might decide to shift forms and stick a paw in the pan, but he does no such thing. “I don’t like leaving the house without you.” The bond may long since have settled, but neither of them have discussed strengthening it, trying to stretch it so they can be farther apart without it getting physically uncomfortable. It’s never been painful, at least not so far, but there is a soreness to it that reminds him that however invisible it is to his human eyes, the bond is real, attaching them to each other like a chord. 

“I’d like that,” Archer says cheerfully, flipping the omelette deftly. There’s a purr in Kimbley’s throat as he watches the other man cook, slit pupils dilated. There’s something about his expression Archer finds irresistibly charming, something just a little bit dangerous—Kimbley does use fire, after all. There’s been something wild about him, almost feral. Not that he would harm Archer; there’s a deep trust in him, but at the same time, he’s certain Kimbley wouldn’t hesitate to attack should Archer ask him.

“Do you want sausage with your breakfast?”

Kimbley lights up, cheerfully grinning. “Yeah. Read my mind.”

**

Two hours later they’re outside, walking along the outskirts of town. It feels nice, if Archer is being honest with himself. They get to be close together, close enough it relaxes every muscle in his body, even as Kimbley rushes ahead of him to get a closer look at whatever catches his interest— a car parked near a house, a type of flower Kimbley swears doesn’t grow in the forest, a butterfly that must get his attention because the man actually is part cat— it should be frustrating, because Kimbley never listens to Archer when it doesn’t suit him, but it isn’t. Archer finds it refreshing. Kimbley is untamable, wild. It’s a trait he never thought he’d find attractive in a man.

How much of it is Kimbley’s affinity towards fire, the fact that he can shift into the form of a cat, and how much of it is the person he is? Archer isn’t certain Kimbley would know the answer. “Do you ever slow down?” Archer mutters, annoyed, but not enough to try grabbing Kimbley to force him to stop running off in the direction of whatever catches his attention next. 

“This place is cool,” Kimbley says by way of an answer, looking proud of himself as he catches a second butterfly out of mid-air in his palms. He opens his hands to look at it, a pretty creature that seems to shimmer in the relative darkness of his cupped hands. “Wildlife doesn’t look like this in the forest. Are cities all this fun?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Archer says, mostly surprised at how readily Kimbley notices things in the city that would escape his attention entirely. “I’ve lived here my entire life.”

By the grin on his familiar’s face, Kimbley isn’t deterred. “This city isn’t near my forest, so I’m curious, now that we’re really exploring.” It’s true; walking through the city is different than their normal trek to the library. As usual, Kimbley’s explanation for his behavior is baffling, but Archer has gotten used to not understanding what goes through the spirit’s mind. At least he’s using his time outside of the manor to act as decent as one would expect for a cat. Somehow, he _isn’t_ causing a scene. Kimbley lets the butterfly flap away, smirking like he’s considering catching a bird next.

“If every walk is going to be like this, I’m never letting you out of the house unsupervised.” It’s meant to sound threatening, but Kimbley’s response is to laugh. “I’m being serious,” Archer scowls, even as Kimbley turns away from him, not the least bit threatened. The bond hums happily, and Archer finds himself falling silent. It takes the fire spirit a long while to calm down, to stop running off ahead of Archer and instead walk beside him. He grins, not even hesitating as he wraps an arm around Archer’s shoulder, bumping their noses together with a low purr in his throat.

“Are you trying to get out of punishment?” His tone isn’t nearly threatening enough to come across as sincere.

The fire spirit looks proud of himself. “There’s nothing to get out of!” Kimbley says cheerfully. His head tips upwards, lopsided grin on his lips. It must be his feline nature—he can say he’s not a cat as much as he wants, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true— that makes him so arrogant, so certain he can get out of any situation he finds himself in by charisma alone.

The frustrating part is how easily it works.

Kimbley leans into Archer’s space, more than he already has. He’s still purring, the sound as soothing as it is coming from a regular cat. Maybe more so, with Kimbley’s cheer from the bond working its way to Archer, blanketing over him. “You’re ridiculous,” Archer mutters, feeling his face growing hot. Kimbley’s response is to lean further into his space, resting his head against Archer’s. “I’m still irritated with you,” Archer says. The response he gets is a louder purr, rolling into a trill. 

They stay like that, curled up together, still walking side-by-side. It isn’t as though they’re the only ones outside; there are plenty of people milling about along the path, both mages and not, but they don’t get the stares that Archer is expecting. No comments, no stares. Every once in a while, a familiar will gaze at Kimbley for a long moment. There’s an assessing aspect to it, and just like with the human stares, nothing comes of it. No judgement, not for who they are—two men, a spirit and a talentless mage.

Well, the familiars don’t always seem thrilled with Kimbley. But there’s no confrontation.

It’s relieving. It’s not something Archer expected at all. There’s something about the idea of the two of them being allowed to being a… pair, he supposes. Acknowledging that a bonded pair are married is a little too much right now, but even so, the closeness right now is wonderful. He doesn’t want it to end.

“What’s on your mind?” The question breaks him from the thoughts in his own head.

“Hm?”

“You look a million miles away, I never see you looking like that.”

Archer can feel himself tense, his face hot, deliberately not answering the question.

They’re near a grove of trees now, and Archer opens his mouth to ask Kimbley where his forest is located, but a noise cuts through the bustle of the city. Unnaturally pitched, like two tones going off at once; a cougar scream overlaid by the roar of a bear. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he finds himself stopping dead in his tracks even as Kimbley peels away from him abruptly. To his eyes, it seems to just _appear_ suddenly, invisible one moment, visible the next. 

The creature is monstrous; six legs, a face like a crocodile covered in scales and patches of fur, painful-looking boney growths all over its body. It’s almost mammalian, he thinks, because the front feet are the enormous paws of a cat, pigeon-toed and painful looking. The back four are gnarled and boney, mismatched scales and fur; enormous tail swaying behind it with spines brandished like a weapon.

“You look like shit,” Kimbley says in a tone Archer has never heard before. He wastes no time, already rushing towards the beast, leaping on its back—is that a knife?— Where the hell did he get a knife? It’s not one from the kitchen. With more dexterity than Kimbley looks like he’s capable of, he slams the knife into the monster’s back. It roars in pain, clawed legs reaching out for Kimbley as it connects with flesh.

Archer stands paralyzed in place, stricken from the sight of the beast, and Kimbley attacking it like some sort of wild animal, the monster biting and clawing at him in turn. There’s a flash of fire from his palms, blooming out and consuming the both of them. There’s an explosion, loud and kicking up enough dirt and gravel that Archer worries for a moment he’s going to get hit with a rock. He’s rushing towards Kimbley before he’s even aware of it, terrified.

The monster lets out a pitiful roar, collapsing onto the ground, vanishing in a mess of mana dust and blood.

Kimbley’s on the ground and he hasn’t moved. He hasn’t moved.

_He hasn’t moved._


End file.
